Dear My Dearest Moony
by Sammiantha-x
Summary: A strange little one-shot that poofed into my head last night. Sirius writes a letter to Moony. SBRL. Reviews are always loved.


Dear my Dearest Moony no, wait, that sounds stupid. I should say: Dear Moony; Dearest Moony; Dear my Moony? Gosh, I'm so bad at this letter-writing thing. I mean, look at me! I haven't even made it past the 'Dear Person' bit yet, and I'm screwing up! Maybe I should just leave it, it isn't that important anyway, and Merlin knows that I've wasted enough paper. Yeah, see that flaming inferno that used to be the fireplace? That's all my letters to you, ripped up and feeding the flames. A whole bunch of parchment, wasted because no matter how hard I try, I just can't seem to find the damn words to say to you.

That's weird, isn't it? That I can't think of anything to say? After all, we are Marauders... no stupid letter should change that. And you're always the easiest to talk to, because you're the only one that actually shuts up long enough to listen. Hah, James would kill me for saying that, but it's true, isn't it? I mean, ever since Evans came into the picture, she's all that matters, and if, God forbid, I try to say anything against her, well... I bet he doesn't defend me like that. I've heard Evans prattling on about me to him did you know, she tried to convince him that I was irresponsible, and maybe he should distance himself from me while exams were coming?! How dare she even suggest it!? And I'm not too sure, but I actually think I heard him considering it. Stupid git, getting all psyched up over a girl. I bet she drops him within the month, or he gets sick of her soon. It isn't s though they're going to get married or anything, so he might as well stop acting like it.

Jeez, listen to me. I started this letter with the express intention of making it about you, and for some reason, it's gone to James. Funny how it always goes back to James with me, isn't it?? I mean, it isn't like I _try_ to talk about him, but it's hard not to right now, when I'm being constantly ditched for a girl that has threatened me with detention more times than I can count. Git. Git git GIT! Eurgh.

But anyway, back to you. I've been meaning to tell you something for a while now. Knowing you, you've probably guessed; you're such a smarty-pants, aren't you? You say it's just because you actually do the assigned reading, but I think it's because you have a naturally large brain. After all, memorising things down to the punctuation isn't any help when you have a real-life problem to solve is it?

Man, I've got myself in one hell of a problem. First there's James, in all his ditchiness glory-- don't give me that look, it's a word if I want it to be-- then there's the fact that school ends in approximately three months, and as of yet I have no house, no job, and no career in my sights. Now, I know that I can stay at James', but that's getting a bit old now, and I don't want to become too much of a nuisance. They _must_ be getting sick of me, even if they don't show it. I hate to intrude, but I don't really have any money, so there's not many places else for me to go. That's going to change once I get a job obviously, but it'll have to be somewhere where my family have minimal influence, which just makes things even harder.

And then there's the worst problem of all, and that happens to be that I am completely head-over-heels fallen in love with you. Now, I know that this isn't exactly the best time, but I can hardly help it, can I? I mean, if I had a choice, I'd fall backwards immediately, but I just... can't. Trust me I've tried.

No offence or anything. I mean, you're wonderful. It's fantastic loving you. But at the same time, it's horrible. I feel stupid, because you're my friend, and scared, because you're my _friend, _and ridiculously unable to function because, contrary to your constant protests, your body is that of a god, and it's horribly distracting when I'm trying to get something done. I hope you're happy, Moony; you're preventing me from living a healthy, normal life. Heck, I even think I've stopped eating as much, because I'd rather watch _you_ eat than stuff my own face! It's so creepy...

But not in a bad way. I s'pose I was starting to look a bit paunchy from all the scrambled eggs. You'd think that being a Beater would keep me reasonably fit, but no, apparently it's good for nothing but rendering you unable to move for a few days after every Quidditch match. Not to mention training sessions (thanks James...)

Gosh, I tend to ramble, don't I? And often I ramble about me, which is definitely NOT a good thing... I'm not vain though. I just think I make a good topic to talk about, don't you? Well, you probably don't, especially not now that I've said all this... you're probably considering halting all talk of and to me completely actually... hahaha... but seriously, don't do that. My stupid head would probably try and throw my beautiful body into the lake or something, and that would NOT be good. I'd get frostbite, and can you imagine me looking all black and sore? It would break female population's hearts. Don't be that cruel, Remus. Could you live with the broken hearts of a thousand girls on your conscience?

I thought not. You're so sweet, that's half your problem (and mine too, consequently.) But it isn't really a problem, because it makes you everyone's friend, and though I'm not really that willing to share you, if you're liked, then I'm liked by acquaintance, rather than just admired from afar. Not that people don't like me. I just make them nervous, because I'm so popular. You're nice to them, so they feel at ease around you... you see? You aren't as intimidating, 'cause you're nicer.

Gosh, it stinks to be me. I really think that there should be some sort of medal for people that suffer like me. And it should be extra-shiny if they're as good-looking as I am. Do you think I'm handsome, Moony? Not that I'm digging for compliments, but it'd be nice to know.

Lord, I'd better go now. God knows you'll be getting sick of the sound of my voice in your head. Not even you can solve every problem.

Dear Moony:

It'd be nice if you wrote back. I don't expect you to or anything... In fact, I more expect a punch in the face, and even that would be welcome. Maybe it'd knock some sense into me...

Anyway, I'm going to bed now. My hand hurts from all this writing, and my head hurts from all this thinking. No doubt your eyes hurt from trying to decipher my illegible scrawl, too.

Night, Moony, and sweet dreams the sweetest there can be.

Talk to you whenever,

Padfoot.


End file.
